


Perfection

by Lily_Hawkins



Series: Perfection [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger friendship, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Draco Malfoy Angst, Draco Malfoy Feels, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter - character, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Young Draco Malfoy, gryffindor!draco, gryffindor!draco malfoy, ron weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Hawkins/pseuds/Lily_Hawkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being trained and conditioned to be the perfect Malfoy heir since birth, Draco Malfoy's world is suddenly turned upside down when he gets sorted into Gryffindor - the last place you would expect to find a Malfoy.  How will this small twist affect the entire world's fate? </p><p>I plan to write out all 7 books in this AU.  There will be eventual Drarry, but not until the later books.</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I claim no part of the creation of Harry Potter and its world and characters.  A few lines are taken directly from the Sorcerer's Stone, especially in the first two chapters, to create a sense of stability and a strong foundation for this AU.  If you get bored of Sorcerer's Stone repetition, feel free to skip to chapter 3.  All rights remain with the beautiful JK Rowling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Draco's POV)

The door swung open at once. A tall, stern looking, black haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the oaf.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was close to the size of Malfoy Manor's own, but seemed to hold a bit less elegance.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Draco could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway on the right, but Professor McGonagall led the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." Draco's heart sped up. Almost time to claim his place in Slytherin. "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts." McGonagall continued. "You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room." Draco groaned internally. What idiot here didn't already know these things? Father had filled him in on almost everything about Hogwarts. It must be the stupid mudbloods that required this drawn out speech. Draco decided to zone out for the rest of the lecture.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," he heard McGonagall finally conclude. "Please wait quietly."

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Draco overheard Potter ask.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said that it hurts a lot." Weasley replied. Draco snorted. Apparently it wasn't only the mudbloods who were clueless. He turned away to begin to laugh about blood-traitor and mudblood idiocy with Crabbe and Goyle, when all of the sudden several people screamed.

Now that was something he had never seen. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Of course he had heard about ghosts, but had never seen them for real. Draco would never admit to it, but they unnerved him. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now, said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Draco got in line behind a girl with sleek black hair. He was confident. Nothing was going to go wrong. He would be sorted into Slytherin and all would be well. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Draco gasped despite of himself. Father hadn't mentioned the ceiling either. A velvety black sky dotted with stars. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and the Great Hall didn't simply open up to the the heavens.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." whispered a girl that Draco didn't recognize.

The first years walked under the thousands of floating candles, and past the four house tables laid with glittering golden plates and goblets, where the students sat, watching. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.

Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she placed what, Draco recognized from his father's description, the sorting hat.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause --

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table to the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. Draco yawned.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, and "Brown, Lavender" went to Gryffindor. Draco winced at the obnoxious riot as Gryffindor gained their first new student.

A girl Draco recognized from family parties, "Bulstrode, Millicent", became the first new Slytherin, followed shortly by Crabbe.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The girl who Draco had overheard commenting on the ceiling, "Granger, Hermione", was sorted into Gryffindor.

When "Longbottom, Neville" was called, he tripped and fell over on his way to the stool. Draco smirked. How embarrassing. Probably the next Hufflepuff. To Draco's surprise he was named a Gryffindor. No better than a Hufflepuff though.

"Malfoy, Draco!" called McGonagall, making Draco's heart jump. Why was he suddenly nervous? He was confident. Nothing was going to go wrong. He would be sorted into Slytherin and all would be well. He quickly collected himself and swaggered forward.

When he sat down on the stool, the hat was placed over his head and fell to cover his eyes, leaving him to stare only at the underside of the patched garment.

"Well, the obvious choice for you would be Slytherin," a voice whispered in his ear. Draco smiled. "But, I'm not here to make the obvious choice." Draco's smile faltered. "You have strong courage underneath all of the cunning that has been drilled into you since birth. It would be a shame to put you anywhere except--" Draco's hands tightened into fists. Courage? he thought. The hat couldn't possibly be talking about --

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And just like that, Draco's world collapsed around him. A faint buzzing filled his ears, and as the hat was lifted off his head he could see a few people clapping at the Gryffindor table. Others, who most likely recognized his family name, were staring at him with a mix of shock and confusion. He felt his feet guiding him towards the sea of black, red and gold, despite every fibre of his being screaming to turn the other way towards the Slytherins. As if in a trance, he went to the far end of the table, as far away as possible from the rest of the Gryffindors. He was afraid. Everything was going wrong. He was sorted into Gryffindor and nothing was well.


	2. Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still a lot of lines taken directly from the Sorcerer's Stone. I just want to keep the storyline foundation as close as possible to the original. After this chapter, however, I will not be taking many more lines, and I'm super excited for that! Please review, thanks for reading!!

The rest of the sorting went by in a haze. He barely even flinched when Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor with him. Here he was, the heir of the Malfoy family, in Gryffindor, the house of mudbloods, blood-traitors, and reckless idiots. He didn’t even want to think about what his father would say. Draco was jerked back to reality when Albus Dumbledore got to his feet.

“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

For some reason this made Malfoy furious. What kind of stupid, horrible, idiotic school was this? The headmaster was an obvious lunatic, and a filthy hat had landed him with some of the worst wizards in Britain. He was fuming.

All of the sudden hundreds of dishes appeared on the table, and not one of them looked appetizing. Draco wondered if he would ever have the stomach to eat again. How could everyone be so carefree?

A couple of people had tried to start a conversation with him or ask him if he was okay throughout the feast, but Draco just ignored them. It took him everything he had to not just get up and walk to the other side of the hall and talk to his friends in Slytherin. But would they even want to talk to him now? Just breathe, he thought as tears started to sting in his eyes. You’re a Malfoy. And a Malfoy doesn’t cry. Finally, the desserts disappeared, and Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

“Ahem -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

What, Draco thought, is wrong with this school.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore.

Draco thrust his head into his hands. Could this night get any worse?

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables, and twisted itself, snakelike into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

When the school began to bellow the lyrics, Draco put his head on the table and covered it with his arms. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now. Finally, he heard the song stop.

“Ah, music,” said the headmaster, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Draco raised his head in alarm. He hadn’t even thought about the house dormitory. His whole summer had been spent fantasizing about the rumoured Slytherin dorm, hidden under the lake. Another dream, out the window.

Draco dejectedly stood, and followed the rest of the Gryffindor’s out of the hall, and up a marble staircase. And another. And four more. And would you look at that, another marble staircase. How many stairs did this god forsaken castle even have? Finally, they came to halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them. When the prefect, whom judging by his red hair was another Weasley, took a step forward they started throwing themselves at him.

“Peeves,” Weasley whispered to the first years. “A poltergeist.”

Now what, the bloody hell, was a bloody poltergeist, doing in a school, thought Draco. He had to admit though, the sight of the Weasley dodging the walking sticks was amusing.

“Peeves -- show yourself.” said Percy.

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

“Oooooooh!” he said. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” barked Weasley.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said the Weasley prefect, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.”

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” she said.

“Caput Draconis,” answered the Weasley prefect, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. Draco scrambled through it, after everyone else.

He expected to hate it. He wanted to hate it. But somehow, this red and gold room seemed, strangely, wonderful. The Gryffindor common room was a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs, that he could already see himself reading on, on a cold winter’s night.

Draco immediately berated himself. He could see himself reading? What nonsense. He could not, and would not fit in here. This would never be where he belonged.

The Weasley prefect directed the girls through one one door to their dormitory, and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase -- they were obviously in one of the towers -- they found their beds: Six four-posters hung with deep, red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Everyone seemed tired and immediately pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed


	3. (Harry's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa!! A slightly shorter chapter, but I've been so excited to write this part since chapter 1.

Harry groaned. He had finally fallen asleep, when he was suddenly jerked awake to a strange noise. Judging by the light outside, it was nowhere near dawn.

He turned over towards Ron’s bed to see Ron staring back at him. Ron slowly lifted his hand and pointed at the bed on the other side of Harry, towards the source of the noise. Harry turned back over and looked. There, between his red and gold curtains, lay Draco Malfoy, curled up into a ball and sobbing. Harry quickly turned back over to Ron with wide eyes.

“What should we do?” Harry mouthed.

Ron shrugged, looking utterly confused, and slightly panicked.

Harry decidedly sat up. He had spent too much of his childhood crying alone, and he wasn’t about to let somebody else do the same thing.

With slight trepidation, he stood up and walked over to Malfoy’s bed. He heard Ron get up behind him. Harry’s hand hovered over Malfoy’s shoulder for a moment before gently shaking it. Malfoy jumped and turned to look at Harry in horror. His face was tear-stained, and even in the faint moonlight Harry could see his eyes were red.

“Erm- are you okay?” Harry asked, in his best attempt at being comforting.

“Go away,” Malfoy sniffed.

“But, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. I’m perfectly okay.”

“You’re sort of crying, Malfoy.” said Ron, who had arrived at Harry’s shoulder.

“Malfoy’s don’t cry!” said Malfoy, furiously wiping away his tears.

“Yeah, and I reckon that Malfoy’s aren’t generally sorted into Gryffindor either.”

Malfoy screwed up his face, and turned over, grabbing his pillow, as a new set of sobs racked his body. 

“Hey, um, Malfoy,” said Harry. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Oh, do you mean humiliating me in front of the entire school when I asked to be friends?” Draco replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Well, to be fair, you sort of attacked my first ever friend.”

“Yeah, well--” Malfoy suddenly froze, and turned back over, sitting up. “You’ve-- you’ve never had a friend before?”

“Er, it’s a long story.” replied Harry, suddenly awkward. “Anyway, what’s up Malfoy.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just being the first Malfoy in centuries to end up in Gryffindor, could be part of it?”

“Why is that such a bad thing?” asked Ron. “Slytherin is full of rotten slimeballs, if you ask me.”

Malfoy glared. “That’s my family’s house you’re talking about.”

“It’s true,” murmured Ron. Harry stomped on Ron’s foot to make him shut up.

Harry, slowly and carefully sat down next to Malfoy on his bed. “But really, why is it a bad thing, Malfoy?”

“Well, first of all, all of my friends and family are in Slytherin.” Malfoy said. “Secondly, there’s the fact that my whole life I have been taught to be a perfect Malfoy, which includes being a Slytherin. And then there’s my father--” and suddenly Malfoy was hunched over sobbing again. Alarmed, Harry awkwardly reached around and patted Malfoy’s back. Ron sat down at the end of the bed and looked at Malfoy with the same panicked expression that he had when he had first saw him crying.

“Hey, it’s okay Malfoy,” said Harry, glancing over at Ron. “You know what? Can I take back your offer of being friends?” Harry glanced back over at Ron, and saw him give a slight nod. “And maybe you could extend that offer to Ron? Your only friends don’t have to be Slytherins anymore.” And after much crying and comforting, the three boys fell asleep together, the most unlikely group of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Thanks for reading!


	4. (Draco's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another, even shorter chapter, sorry! I promise that they'll get longer again after this one.

Draco groaned, and tightened his shut eyes as the morning sun filtered into the room. Why did he feel like he got barely any sleep? And also, why did it feel like there were two large lumps on his bed? All of the sudden yesterday’s events started flooding back to him. The sorting, the houses, and--

Draco eyes burst open and he bolted upright, causing the two lumps to fall off his bed with a thump. No. This couldn’t be happening. How could he, Draco Malfoy, show these people such weakness? He was taught to despise wizarding families like the Weasley’s, and anyone who associated themselves with them. And now he had gone, forgotten everything, and sobbed like a baby in front of them.

“Draco, what the heck?” groaned one of the lumps on the ground.

“No,” Draco, whispered.

Ron and Harry-- no, Weasley and Potter were getting up off of the ground, rubbing their heads and yawning.

“What do you mean, no?” asked Potter.

“Yesterday,” said Draco. “Last night-- Whatever, it never happened.”

“What do you mean?” Potter repeated.

“I don’t like you,” said Draco, panicked. “I have no wish to be friends with-- with disgusting poor blood-traitors.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” asked a tired voice from another bed.

“Unbelievable.” said Weasley furiously, ignoring the voice. “I can’t believe this. I should have known better.”

“Yeah, maybe you should have, Weasley.” said Draco, doing his best attempt at a sneer. Potter and Weasley looked so hurt. He told himself that he shouldn’t feel bad about it. There was no reason he should care about these people’s feelings. He pushed down his own feelings and got up to get dressed.

“Absolutely mental,” he heard Weasley murmur to a still frozen Potter.

Draco was furious with himself. He still could not believe he had been so weak in front of them. Nobody could ever find out what happened last night. It would be the end of his already dwindling reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review!


	5. (Draco's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Longer chapter again! Heads up, the Slytherins are not portrayed as the nicest bunch in this chapter, but there will be a valid excuse for their behaviour later on. I also took a few more phrases directly from Sorcerer's Stone again, just for simple canonical things that wouldn't change like Snape's dialogue.

The next few days went by without too much thought of Potter and Weasley; Draco was overwhelmed enough by the challenge of getting to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: Wide sweeping ones, narrow rickety ones, some that led somewhere different on a Friday, and some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were the doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and the doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot.

The ghosts didn’t help, either. They were a new phobia of Draco’s, and it was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open.

The Malfoy Manor may have been large, but it was incomparable to Hogwarts and all of its quirks and twists.

Once Draco had managed to find his classes, they quickly turned out to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Despite what he might have boasted to others of his great god given magical talent, he was having a fair bit of trouble keeping up.

Friday morning found Draco fidgeting nervously at breakfast the morning before double potions with Slytherin. He had done a pretty decent job of separating himself from the rest of his classmates up to this point, but he couldn’t see how he could continue that pattern what with seeing his old friends from Slytherin. Suddenly a loud whooshing indicated the arrival of the morning post. He looked up to see his eagle owl, Aureus, flying towards him. She gracefully landed next to his breakfast of bacon and eggs. Draco’s heart sped up as he untied the small package attached to his owl’s leg. His parents, no doubt, had expected him to write first, which was why his first package had arrived so late into the week. Draco had not had the heart to give them the news of his new house.

Finally, he got the package off of Aureus’ leg. He gave her a small, distracted pat before she flew away. Hands shaking, he unwrapped the parcel. On the top was a letter from his father. Bracing himself for the worst, he opened it:

Dear Draco,

At least you’re not in Hufflepuff.

Love, Father

Draco stared at it for a moment, before breaking into a huge grin. In other’s eyes this might have looked like a rude, cold, curt letter, but Draco knew that this was his father’s special way of saying he wasn’t upset.

It was with a much lighter heart that Draco opened the box underneath the letter to reveal an assortment of homemade sweets from mother. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be too bad after all, he thought, biting into a delicious eclair.

He was in so much of a better mood, that when he arrived to the dungeon for potions, he took the initiative to begin a conversation with the girl sitting next to him for the first time since the start of term.

“Hello!” Draco said cheerfully. The girl turned to look at him. She had bushy brown hair and large front teeth. Draco vaguely recognized her from the sorting ceremony.

“Hello,” she replied, reaching her hand forward to shake his. “I’m Hermione Granger. Aren’t you that boy, Malfoy, who’s been avoiding everyone?”

“Well, er, that is--” Draco started.

“It’s rather rude if I say so myself.” she interrupted bluntly. “Nearly everyone’s tried to speak to you.”

Draco paused a moment. Not many people were so frank with him. In a way, it was kind of nice. “Granger.” he said suddenly. “I don’t recognize that name. Who are your parents?”

“Oh, my parents are muggles.” she answered promptly.

Draco looked down and scratched his head. Perfect. The first person he talked to since the debacle with Potter and Weasley was a mudblood. Absolutely perfect.

Reading his body language, Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have a problem with that do you?”

Draco thought quickly. Maybe this actually was perfect. Because she was muggleborn she wouldn’t any preconceived notions of him. She was one of the very few people in this school that didn’t react to his surname. This could work nicely for him.

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I do.”

The door to the classroom slammed open, and Professor Snape, the potions master, walked in. Like many other teachers he started class with roll call. Like many other teachers he also paused at Potter’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity.”

A few Slytherins sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. Draco remembered his father briefly praising Snape as a professor.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the sense.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Draco looked over and saw Hermione on the edge of her seat, looking desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand shot up next to Draco as he looked over at Potter, who looked utterly shocked and confused.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. “Tut, tut -- fame, clearly isn’t everything.”

Draco tried not to laugh. He knew the other night wasn’t Potter’s fault but he still felt furious at him for witnessing his weakness, and it sort of felt like this humiliation was payback. It’s a funny way how humans work. You either hate or love the ones you open yourself up to.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat, but Potter still looked as baffled as ever.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” said Snape, ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

Draco nudged her and whispered amusedly, “You know he doesn’t actually want the answers right? He’s obviously just trying to make a show of Potter.” Hermione ignored him.

As if on queue Potter said, “I don’t know. I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

A few people laughed, including Draco, despite himself. Snape, however, was not pleased.

“Sit down,” he snapped at Hermione. “For your information , Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.” Draco groaned. He might have hated Potter, but Gryffindor was his house too now.

Things didn’t improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak , criticizing almost everyone except Draco, whom he had instead opted for curious looks and glances.

All of the sudden clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. The boy named Neville Longbottom, who had tripped during the sorting, had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Potter and Weasley, who had been working next to Neville.

“You -- Potter -- why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

The rest of potions was relatively tame, and ended an hour later. Draco plucked up his courage and jogged over to meet his old friends from Slytherin after class.

“Hey,” said Draco.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy fidgeted awkwardly.

“Hey?” repeated Draco.

“Er, um, Malfoy, that is, um--” started Crabbe.

“Oh my god, can you still not form a coherent sentence?” demanded Draco.

“Hey!” cut in Pansy. “You have no right to talk to him like that anymore. You’re nothing more than a stupid Gryffindor now.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Then what are you doing wearing that ugly red and gold tie?”

“I--” Draco looked down at his hands his face burning. This hurt. This hurt bad.

“What’s going on over here?” Hermione appeared at Draco’s side.

“It’s nothing, go away,” mumbled Draco.

“Oh look, you’ve even found yourself a new Gryffindor girlfriend!” laughed Pansy.

Not wanting to deal with this anymore, Draco pushed past Pansy and left the dungeons, walking as quickly as possible up the stairs to the entrance hall. A minute later Hermione came up behind him panting.

“Don’t ask.” said Draco

“I wasn’t going to.” she replied. “Oh, by the way, I have to do some studying in the library during our break, do you want to join me?”

Draco thought for a moment before simply saying, “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be a dear and review? <3


	6. (Draco's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Draco's POV chapter... I promise the next one will be in Harry's!

The beginning of the next week was relatively uneventful. Draco continued to exchange awkward glances with Potter, and made a habit of sneering back at Weasley’s glares, whilst spending most of his free time with Hermione.

“Hey, what’s that?” Draco asked one day, while studying in the library. A photograph had slipped out of Hermione’s school bag. He knew that he shouldn’t have been so fascinated by her muggle culture. His entire upbringing screamed for him to hate her, yet he was still young and impressionable, and curiosity fights a strong battle.

“Oh, this?” she said, picking it up. “Just a photo of my parents.”

Draco looked at it inquisitively. “Why aren’t they moving?”

“Muggle technology is much different than wizard's. The photos only move if they’re in a movie.”

“What’s a movie?”

“Hmm,” said Hermione. “A movie is a sort of thing that shows a story or event by means of moving pictures. There are actors and actresses who portray different characters that get recorded by a camera. Sorry, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Draco secretly thought that a movie sounded just like a wizarding picture, but didn’t say anything.

“And what are your parents standing on, and holding? Are they unable to walk without assistance?” Draco asked, squinting at the photograph.

“Those are skis!” Hermione laughed. Draco stared. “Skis? Do wizards not have skis either?”

“If wizards don’t have them, then I doubt that they are that important. Or wizards are just evolved past needing such strange materials.” said Draco defensively.

“My parents aren’t disabled!” Hermione laughed again. “Skis are used for fun. If you stand on these,” she said indicating the wooden runners, “ you can slide down snowy hills. The stick-like things they are holding are used to control your speed and direction. It’s very enjoyable.”

“Muggle culture’s weird,” mumbled Draco.

The week took a surprising turn when a notice was pinned up in the Gryffindor common room. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together. Draco wanted to be excited, but he knew he would be unable to avoid his old friends. But that didn’t stop him from boasting. He loved to tell loud stories to Hermione that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping muggles in a helicopter. Of course in reality, it had only happened once. And the helicopter was at least one hundred feet up from him. But nobody else needed to know that.

Hermione, however, was extremely nervous about flying. She had started spending less time with Draco, and taking every opportunity to either read a library book called “Quidditch Through the Ages,” or spout boring flying tips that she had memorized to a desperate Neville Longbottom.

Thursday morning found the Gryffindor first years all very anxious. All of them were talking very excitedly whilst Draco examined a fresh box of sweets from home.

“Draco knows about flying, Neville,” Hermione said suddenly, making him jump. “You should ask him too.”

Draco stared, wide-eyed at her. “What are you doing?” he hissed at Hermione.

“Come on, you need to start talking to everyone else.” she whispered back. “Go on Neville, ask him.” she said loudly.

“Er,” said Neville, “What happens if I can’t get off the ground?”

Draco cleared his throat nervously. “Well,” he said. “Unless you are either a muggle or a squib, that shouldn’t be a problem. Not all wizards are good at flying, but they can at least hover.”

“Thanks…” said Neville, followed by awkward silence. The silence was saved by the arrival of a barn owl, carrying a package for Neville. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall!” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things -- this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red -- oh…” His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Draco, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward, a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Draco glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. Was this really the best that this school could afford?

“Stick out your right hand over your brooms,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Draco looked down in dismay as his broom only came halfway up to his hand before falling back to the ground. Potter, he annoyingly noticed, got his broom on the first try. Draco shouted again, and to his delight, the broom zoomed happily into his hand at once.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Draco’s face burned when she told him that he’d been doing it the wrong way for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two --”

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Draco saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and --

WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Draco heard her mutter. “Come on, boy -- it’s all right, up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

Everyone started to mutter among themselves once she was out of earshot. Draco decided to seize this opportunity to try and talk to his old Slytherin friends again.

“Hey Pansy,” he said walking over.

“What do you want?” asked Crabbe.

“Okay, guys,” said Draco, “ just because I’m a Gryffindor doesn’t mean we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Yeah, sorry Malfoy, it sort of does.” said Goyle. Pansy had her arms crossed and was glaring.

“You’re obviously one of them now.” she said. “I’ve even seen you hanging on to that muggleborn.” she spat out the word like it was a curse.

“I’m Draco Malfoy!” he snapped. “You people used to worship me.”

“You’ve changed,” mumbled Crabbe.

“I have not!”

“Then prove it.” said Pansy.

“How?” asked Draco, his eyes blazing.

Pansy thought for a moment, then gestured towards Neville’s remembrall lying on the ground.

Draco suddenly knew what he had to do.

“No,” he whispered. “He-- he was really happy when he got that this morning.”

“Since when do you care about other people’s feelings? Whatever, goodbye Malfoy.”

“Wait!” Draco said. He took a deep breath, and internalized all of his feelings, tucking them away deep inside his heart. He missed his friends. Didn’t he?

“Look!” he said loudly so everyone could hear him, darting forward and snatching the remembrall from the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him”

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up. He glanced at Pansy and the other Slytherins, all smirking.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” said Potter quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. “Give it here.”

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about -- up a tree?”

“Draco what are you doing?” said Hermione dangerously. “Neville is your friend!”

Draco bit his lip, and before he could think anymore, he jumped onto the nearest broomstick and flew to the top of an oak tree. Hovering near the branches he called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

He watched as Potter grabbed his broom and flew to meet him in the air. Draco stared, stunned. Potter could really fly.

“Give it here,” Potter called, “or I’ll knock you off your broom!”

“Oh yeah?” said Draco, trying to sneer. This really did not feel good, thought Draco. In the past this might have thrilled Draco, but now he wanted to throw up.

“Catch it if you can, then!” Draco shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground, wanting to end this as soon as possible.

After landing, Draco watched in awe as Potter zoomed down, catching the Remembrall only a foot away from the ground, just in time to pull his broom straight, before gently toppling onto the ground.

“HARRY POTTER!” shouted a voice.

Professor McGonagall was running toward them.

“Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts --” Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously,”-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck --”

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor --”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil.”

“But Malfoy --”

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me now.”

“Nice one Malfoy,” whispered a voice in his ear, as McGonagall led Potter away from the group. The Slytherins had gathered around him, appreciatively laughing.

“Looks like you haven’t really changed,” smirked Pansy, approvingly.

Draco started to smile, before faltering when he saw Hermione shoot him a withering glare before stalking off with the rest of the Gryffindors.

“I-- I have to go,” Draco announced to the Slytherins, and ran after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I might love you forever if you review.


	7. (Harry's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this chapter is in Harry's POV, and not enough has happened differently with Draco yet, there is quite a few chunks taken straight from Sorcerer's Stone again. I only do this to keep the foundation strong. Also HUGE special thanks to BAFan, DestroyerPiggy, and Tin_E for reviewing! Reviews are the lifeblood of a fanfic writer.

“You’re joking”

It was dinner time. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he’d left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak-and-kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he’d forgotten all about it.

“Seeker?” he said. But first-years never -- you must be the youngest house player in about --”

“-- a century,” said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. “Wood told me.”

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

“I start training next week,” said Harry. “Only don’t tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over.

“Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too-- Beaters.”

“I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year, said Fred. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Draco Malfoy.

“What do you want?” asked Harry, coolly.

“Well, after a beating from Hermione, and a bucket of frog spawn poured over all of my textbooks, courtesy of Fred and George Weasley, I took it upon myself to apologize, Potter.” Malfoy replied.

“Save it, Malfoy.” said Harry.

“Okay, let me make myself clear. I’m apologizing. I don’t do apologies. Today I had the chance to get my old friends back. I took that chance. And then, I threw it away. I don’t like how they make me feel. I decided I really don’t really fancy bullying people--”

“Wow, good for you, Malfoy. You figured out how to be a slightly decent human being.”

“Let me finish, Potter,” he hissed. “It took a lot of guts for me to turn away from the people I’ve known my whole life, no matter how slimy you may think they are. Anyway, I want to make it up to you. Meet me in the trophy room, tonight at midnight.” and before they could reply, he turned on his heel and left the hall.

“Don’t go, mate,” said Ron, darkly. “Malfoy’s a backstabbing git. Who knows what he’s planning.”

“I’m not scared of Malfoy,” said Harry, “Who knows, he might even actually be sorry.”

“Fat chance.”

“All the same, I want to see what he wants.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll come along to watch your back, I guess.” said Ron.

“Excuse me.”

They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Draco were saying --”

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered.

“-- and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry.

“Goodbye,” said Ron.

All the same, it wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Malfoy never came to the common rooms that night). There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, he was painfully curious about what Malfoy wanted to show him.

“Half past eleven,” Ron muttered at last. “We’d better go.”

They pulled on their dressing gowns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them: “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown.

“You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped. “Percy -- he’s a Prefect, he’d put a stop to this.”

Harry couldn’t believe anyone could be so interfering.

“Weren’t you the one who made him make these plans in the first place?” he asked.

“No! I only told him to apologize, not to make you lose points for Gryffindor by sneaking out with him!”

“Whatever. Come on,” he said to Ron. He pushed the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves. I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away.”

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so--”

But what they were they didn’t find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit, and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly.

“That’s your problem.” said Ron. “We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.”

They hadn’t even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

“I’m coming with you.” she said.

“You are not.”

“D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I’ll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up.”

“You’ve got some nerve--” said Ron loudly.

“Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.”

It was a sort of snuffling.

“Mrs Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn’t Mrs Norris. It was Neville, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

“Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours. I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig Snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.”

“How’s your arm?” said Harry.

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Good -- well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, we’ll see you later--”

“Don’t leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron’s already been past twice.”

Ron looked at his watch and the glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

“If either of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room.

Malfoy stood there, surrounded by the crystal trophy cases which glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues, winked silver and gold in the darkness.

“I wasn’t aware you were bringing the whole gang along, Potter.” said Malfoy.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” said Harry. “Whatever it is, hurry it up, I don’t want to get caught.”

“Yes, that is a very good question!” snapped Hermione. “I told you to say sorry, not get Harry into even more trouble.”

“Well, if I’ve heard correctly, Potter isn’t in any trouble.” said Malfoy. “If anything, quite the opposite. I heard you got made the new Gryffindor Seeker.”

“How did you--” Harry started. Malfoy waved him down.

“News travels fast. Anyway, to apologize for giving you the opportunity of a century,” Malfoy sneered, “I wanted to show you something.” he gestured to the trophy next to him. “Take a look.”

Harry walked up and peered at the trophy, reading: ‘Quidditch Cup.’ Underneath the cup was a small plaque that read: ‘Gryffindor.’ And directly underneath that, was the names of the students belonging to the winning team. Immediately, Harry’s eyes found the words: ‘Potter, James. Chaser.’

“My father played Quidditch too?” said Harry quietly.

“It appears to be that way, yes.”

Harry frowned. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

Everything was silent for a moment, before Neville whimpered, “Alright, can we get out of here now?”

“Wait, but why are you only apologizing to Harry?” accused Ron. “It was Neville’s remembrall that you stole.”

“I already--” Malfoy started, but was interrupted by the most unwelcome of voices.

“Sniff around, my sweet, I know I heard voices.”

It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly for the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch’s voice. Neville’s robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -- he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Harry and Malfoy yelled simultaneously, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following -- they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

“I -- told -- you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. “I -- told -- you.”

“We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.”

“This is all your fault Malfoy.” said Hermione.

Malfoy crossed his arms and stared determinedly at the wall.

“Let’s go.” said Harry.

It wasn’t going to be that simple. They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you’ll get us thrown out.”

Peeves cackled.

“Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Malfoy, as Ron took a swipe at Peeves -- this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.

“This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed hopelessly at the door. “We’re done for! This is the end!”

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves shouts.

“Oh, move over!” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open -- they piled through it, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please’.”

“Don’t mess me about, Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please.” said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

“All right -- please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked.” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be okay -- get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s dressing gown for the last minute. “What?”

Harry turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he’d walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of what had happened so far.

They weren’t in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason that they weren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob - between Filch and death, he’d take Filch.

They fell backwards -- Harry was sure he heard Malfoy scream -- and they slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn’t stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

“Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout.” panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he’d never speak again.

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally.

“This place has literally gone to the dogs.” said Malfoy, still shaking.

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” she snapped. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry suggested “I wasn’t looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads.”

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.”

She stood up, glaring at them.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed -- or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

“No, we don’t mind,” he said. “You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn’t you? Also, thanks a lot Malfoy for almost getting us all killed.”

“Anytime, Weasley.”

“No, but, actually thank you,” said Harry, “for showing me that trophy.”

“You know this doesn’t make us friends, right?” said Malfoy.

Ron rolled his eyes.

“But it also doesn’t make us enemies.” Malfoy finished. “Acquaintances?” he asked.

“Acquaintances.” agreed Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Reviews are the lifeblood of a fanfic writer"


	8. (Draco's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short chapter to introduce a small extra storyline.

The next morning over breakfast, Draco tried to talk to Hermione, but to no avail. Hermione, still angry about the past night’s events, was giving him the cold shoulder. The rest of the house, still upset at him for the Quidditch class debacle, were also ignoring him. Resigned to his fate, Draco ate his meal in silence, mutely wishing to talk to somebody about the monstrous dog, and what it might be guarding.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a long thin package carried by six large screech owls. Draco watched as the owls soared and dropped the package right in front of Potter. By the looks of it, the package contained a broomstick. Biting down his jealousy, Draco continued to eat his watery bowl of porridge.

The day’s classes went by without anything too notable happening. It wasn’t until after dinner, that the day became more interesting.

Draco had just sat down in the common room, and had begun to unload his homework when he pulled back his hand in disgust. He had just touched something very wet and slimy. Bracing himself, he looked inside to find an incredibly large, yellow slug on top of his parchment.

“Eugh!” he said. If there was one thing that Draco hated, it was dirty messy things, whether that was himself, his stuff, or even another person. And now all of his schoolwork was covered in slime.

“Weasley!” he barked at the room. Four red heads turned his way. “Ugh, I mean Ron!”

Ron got up from his armchair and walked towards him.

“What do you want?”

“What I want,” said Draco through his teeth, “is for you to tell your brothers to lay off me and to stop putting disgusting things in my bag.”

“What are you talking about?”

Draco opened his bag to show Ron the slug. Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“And look at my hand!” exclaimed Draco. “There’s slime on it! And it won’t come off!” He started flailing his hands madly.

Ron snorted.

“What’s so funny?” asked Draco deliriously. He found absolutely nothing amusing about the current situation.

“You look barmy, mate.” said Ron.

“I don’t care!” said Draco. “Go tell your brothers to stop it, and ask them what kind of hideous creature this is.”

“Alright, alright. Since we’re ‘acquaintances.’” he said mockingly. “Oi, Fred! George! Come over here!” 

The Weasley twins sauntered over.

“What is it, our ickle ronniekins?” said George. “I have to say, I’m not impressed with your choice of company.”

“And I’m not impressed with this slug or yesterday’s frog spawn in my bag.” said Draco.

“What are you talking about?” said Fred, an eyebrow raised. “Do you know what he’s talking about?” he asked George.

“He looks a bit mad right now, if you ask me.” said George. “Hair all askew and everything.”

“Stop pretending, Weasleys. I know it was you.”

“We have honestly, no idea what you’re talking about.” said Fred. “If someone put frog spawn and a snail--”

“Slug,” Draco interrupted.

“Okay, slug in your bag,” said Fred, “then we had nothing to do with it.”

“We may be infamous pranksters,” said George, “but we never pull many pranks on first years. Even we aren’t that low.”

Draco frowned.

“But if you didn’t do it, who did?”

“Beats me,” said Fred.

“Well, could you at least tell me how to get this bloody slime off my hand? This must be some sort of enchanted slug…” Draco furiously rubbed his hand on his robes.

“Enchanted slug?” asked George. He and his twin peered into Draco’s bag and guffawed.

“That’s just a plain old banana slug if I ever saw one,” said Fred.

“Enchanted slug!” repeated George, wiping away tears. Even Ron began to laugh.

“Have you tried water?” George suggested.

Draco suddenly felt very stupid and humiliated.

“Stop laughing!” he demanded, to no avail. Furious, he stood up, and marched from the room.

After scrubbing at his hands for ten minutes, Draco laid on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He felt anger at the Weasley’s for making fun of him, but even more anger at himself for losing his composure. What was bothering him most of all, however, was that he now had no inkling as to who was the slug culprit.

Groaning, as he turned over on his side, Draco fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassing as it may be, every time that I get a comment/review I jump and dance around like a little girl...


	9. (Draco's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I already have almost 300 hits! I never thought that this would get many views at all, and I can truthfully say that I have been pleasantly surprised. Thank you to everyone who has left comments/reviews, they are extremely encouraging!

The day before Halloween, found Draco in yet another explosive Potions class. He still had not figured out who was behind the defiling of his bag. In the past week alone, he had had several pieces of homework ruined by the following: armadillo bile, bat spleens, bulbadox juice, rotten eggs, salamander blood, and on a particularly nasty occasion, which ended with a trip to the hospital wing, bobotuber pus.

Draco, ignoring his potion, was pondering, who could possibly hate him so much to be the culprit. The Weasley twin’s names were cleared. Hermione may have been mad at him, but he couldn’t imagine her ever doing something so low. Harry and Ron were no longer his enemies since the trophy incident, so that counted them out. He had apologized to Neville, and had even swapped chocolate frog cards with him the other night, so he seemed like an unlikely suspect. Who was it then?

Draco was so distracted, counting off names, he didn’t realize he was pouring crushed beetle eyes instead of the doxy eggs into his Befuddlement Draught.

BOOM! His entire cauldron, potion and all, burst into flames, sending him running back, into the desks behind him. The Slytherins on the other side of the classroom erupted into gales of laughter, as the Gryffindors ran away from the molten mess.

Professor Snape, quickly got up and extinguished the flames.

“Why, Mr Malfoy,” he said, “did you put beetle eyes in your potion?”

“I-- I don’t know, sir.”

“It would do you well, to not repeat that mistake again.” Professor Snape said coldly, before turning on his heel to return to the front of the class.

Draco stood there in shock, staring at his melted cauldron.

“Malfoy,” hissed Ron who had come to stand next to him. “You still trying to figure out who’s been messing up your stuff?”

“Huh?” said Draco, distractedly.

“Your old Slytherin pals over there snuck into the potions cabinet while you almost burned down the classroom. They came out with their arms full of nasty looking ingredients. Seems suspicious if you ask me.”

Draco furrowed his brow. Of course. It all made sense now. The Slytherins, still mad at his betrayal, must have been behind all of the gross incidents.

“Mr Malfoy,” said Snape at the front of the class, “if you think that your cauldron is going to clean itself, you are sadly mistaken. Get to work.”

“Yes, sir.”

After class had ended, Malfoy picked up his bottle of armadillo bile and strutted over to the Slytherins.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the traitorous little lion.” said Pansy Parkinson. “What do you want now? Surely, you don’t want to be friends again? You’ve already used all the chances you’re gonna get.”

“No, I just wanted to return something to you.” drawled Draco. “I think you might have accidentally dropped it with my things.” And as quick as a flash, he had snatched Pansy’s bag from her shoulder and was pouring his upended bottle of armadillo bile into it. “Try not to be so careless with your things from now on, will you?” he said, and swaggered away, silently laughing at Pansy’s horrified face.

On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise. Draco was paired with a boy he had never talked to much, named Dean Thomas.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practising!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said “s” instead of “f” and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

It was very difficult. Draco and Dean swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skywards just lay on the desktop.

Hermione, two tables over, was the first in the class to get results. Her feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Oh well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

Draco looked at the feather, impressed, but then frowned. He had noticed that Hermione seemed to get the best results in every class. More so than even him or the other pure-blooded wizards. He had of course quickly learned to not be disgusted by her, and had even briefly befriended her, but her genius at wizardry baffled him. His whole life he had been taught that muggleborns were inferior. His father told him about all they ways that they disgrace the name of a wizard. But how could that be when the brightest witch in their class was muggleborn?

That night was the Halloween feast. Draco and the other first years stared in awe at the decorations. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Draco was just helping himself to a boxty pancake when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew, and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, “Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Percy Weasley was in his element.

“Follow me! Stick together, first-years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first-years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a Prefect!

Draco followed close behind Ron and Harry. They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions, As they jostled through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Draco bumped into Harry as Harry suddenly stopped and grabbed Ron’s arm.

“I’ve just though -- Hermione.” he said to Ron

“What about her?” answered Ron.

“She doesn’t know about the troll.”

“Wait, where’s Hermione? Is she not with the rest of the house?” interjected Draco.

“We heard she was, er, crying in the bathroom.” said Harry.

“What? Why?” said Draco.

“No time to explain,” said Harry.

“Okay, fine let’s go get her.” snapped Ron. “But Percy’d better not see us.”

“I’m coming too.” said Draco.

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor and hurried off towards the girls’ toilets. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

“Percy!” hissed Ron, pulling Harry, who pulled Draco, behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

“What’s he doing?” Harry whispered. “Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?”

“Search me.”

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape’s fading footsteps.

“He’s heading for the third floor,” Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

“Can you smell something?”

Draco sniffed and immediately clapped a hand over his nose, as a foul stench reached his nostrils: a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it -- a low grunting and the shuffling of footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed: at the end of the passage to the left, something huge was moving towards them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its lumpy body like a boulder with a small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge, wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

“The key’s in the lock,” Harry muttered.

“Let’s lock it in?” Draco suggested.

“Good idea,” said Ron, nervously.

They edged towards the open doors, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn’t about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door and lock it.

“Yes!”

Flushed with their victory they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop -- a high, petrified scream -- and it was coming from the chamber they’d just locked up

“Oh, no,” said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

“That’s not the--” started Draco, horrified.

“--girl’s toilet!” finished Harry.

“Hermione!” they all said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic -- Harry pulled the door open -- they ran inside.

Hermione was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

“Confuse it!” Harry said desperately, seizing a tap and throwing it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Draco ran, while it was distracted to grab Hermione.

“Oi, pea-brain!” he heard Ron yell from the other side of the chamber.

“Run! Hermione come on!” Draco yelled, trying to pull Hermione towards the door. Harry ran over to help.

“Come on, run, run!” he yelled, but she couldn’t move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started towards Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Draco watched in horror as Harry did something very brave, but also incredibly stupid: he took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll’s neck, shoving his wand up the troll’s nose.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry hanging on for dear life. Draco couldn’t remember being so terrified in his life, but continued to try and tug Hermione out of danger’s way.

Ron pulled out his own wand -- not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: “Wingardium Leviosa”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, to its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet, shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he’d done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

“Is it -- dead?”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry. “I think it’s just been knocked out.”

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

“Urgh -- troll bogies.”

He wiped it on the troll’s trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn’t realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. McGonagall was looking at Ron, Draco, and Harry. Draco had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” she said with cold fury in her voice. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory.”

Draco stared at the floor. This was it. He was going to get expelled.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

“Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

“I went looking for the troll because I-- I thought I could deal with it on my own-- you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club, while Draco tried to get me out. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Draco, Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn’t new to them.

“Well -- in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them. “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head. Draco was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Draco, Harry and Ron.

“Well, I must say you were lucky, but not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurried out of the chamber and didn’t speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“We should have gotten more than fifteen points,” Ron grumbled.

“Ten, you mean, once she’s taken off Hermione’s.” said Harry.

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron admitted. “Mind you, we did save her.”

“She might not have needed saving if we hadn’t locked the thing in with her,” Draco reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Pig snout,” they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said “Thanks”, and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy became friends. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/review/or ask any questions you have about the fic! Also I am 100% open to constructive criticism. Thank you so much for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapter in one night because I literally have zero self control. Also I think I'm going to stop titling the chapters with who's POV it is, because I don't really think it's necessary. I've been doing my best to write it similar to Rowling's style, and Rowling's style isn't necessarily any one character's POV, so.

If you had told Draco Malfoy three months ago that he would become best friends with a muggleborn, a Weasley, and Harry Potter, he would have laughed in your face before cursing you for disgusting slander. But here he was, relaxing in the courtyard talking about quidditch with these most unlikely friends.

Of course arguments broke out among the group occasionally. Ron and Hermione would bicker, whilst Harry and Draco would always find some inane thing to banter about, but it was always in good nature.

“Did you know that there’s over seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul?” said Harry.

“I’m pretty sure it’s only six-hundred-and-forty. No need to exaggerate, Harry.” Draco said

“Hey, it says it right here in ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that you were a Quidditch expert, sorry. Maybe you should just become a Seeker already. Oh, wait, you already are and it’s thanks to me.”

“What exactly is your point?”

“That I don’t like you.”

“Sure.”

“It’s freezing!” Ron interjected. “Can you make those flame things again, Hermione?”

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Draco, Harry, and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll and she was much nicer for it. She pulled out a small jar, and whispered an incantation, conjuring a bright blue fire inside of it. They all huddled with their backs to it, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. The four of them moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn’t be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape’s eye. He limped over. He hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

“What’s that you’ve got there Potter?”

It was “Quidditch Through the Ages”. Harry showed him.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.

“He’s just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away.

“Father always said he was such a great professor.” said Draco. “Why does he hate you so much?”

“Wish I knew.” said Harry. “Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?”

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking the boy’s Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy (“How will you learn?”) but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.

“I’m going to go ask Snape for my book back.” said Harry, suddenly.

“Rather you than me,” said Ron and Hermione together.

“Wait,” said Hermione. “Draco, you should go with him. Snape likes you best out of all the Gryffindors.”

“But, I’m tired,” Draco whined, “and my legs hurt.”

Hermione fixed him with a glare. Draco gave a dramatic sigh.

“Anything to get ickle, precious, Potter’s book back.”

“Shut up, don’t come.” said Harry.

“No, I’m coming. I already stood up.”

They made their way down to the staff room and knocked. There was no answer. They knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? Harry pushed the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry tried to shut the door quietly but--

“POTTER! MALFOY!”

Snape’s face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes to quickly hide his leg.

“I just wondered if I could have my book back.”

“GET OUT! OUT!”

Harry and Draco left before he could take anymore points from Gryffindor, and sprinted back upstairs.

“Did you get it?” Ron asked as Harry and Draco joined them. “What’s the matter?”

In a low whisper, Harry told them what they’d seen.

“You know what this means?” he finished breathlessly. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That’s where he was going when we saw him -- he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to create a diversion!”

“Wait, what--” said Draco.

Hermione’s eyes were wide.

“No -- he wouldn’t,” she said. “I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”

“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” snapped Ron. “I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape.”

“I don’t think Professor Snape would do that--” said Draco.

“You too?” said Ron incredulously. “But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?”

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me very happy :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't sleep, and I keep writing and editing more and more, so take the third chapter of tonight.  
> Also!! Ginormous thanks to everyone who has reviewed, you have no idea how much I appreciate it: BAFan, DestroyerPiggy, rellephant, Tin_E, scarhead, and sagejj

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to the day’s Quidditch match.

“You’ve got to eat some breakfast.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Harry, eat something, you look more horrible than usual.” said Draco.

“Thanks, Draco.”

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Draco, Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said “Potter for President” and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Everyone cheered as the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams walked out onto the pitch. The two team captains shook hands, and the teams mounted their brooms.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too--”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The match went on, Gryffindor scoring the first points. Their cheers filled the cold air, joined by howls and moans from the Slytherins.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Draco jumped as Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough room to join them. He suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, and not because of being squished. In the past two months alone, he had miraculously gotten over childhood prejudices enough to befriend a blood-traitor and a muggleborn, but in no way was he ready to welcome this oaf into his life.

“Are you friends with him?” Draco hissed at Ron, horrified.

“Wha- Yeah,” said Ron distractedly, before leaning back over to talk to the giant.

Draco didn’t know if he could handle this. On one hand, he wanted to see the match, on the other he wanted to put as much distance as possible from himself and Hagrid. He opted, instead, to surreptitiously slide over into the Ravenclaw’s section of the stands.

Looking back at the match, he saw Harry and the Slytherin Seeker, Terrence Higgs, neck and neck, hurtling towards the Snitch. Harry was so close when--

WHAM! Draco winced as he watched Marcus Flint slam into Harry, purposefully blocking Harry from catching the Snitch.

Lee Jordan, the commentator, was obviously struggling not to take sides.

“So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating--”

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean after that open and revolting foul--”

“Jordan, I’m warning you--”

“Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

Draco glanced back over at Harry, and was instantly taken aback. He was zigzagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which almost unseated him, steadily rising higher and farther from the game. What in Merlin’s name did he think he was doing?

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him just managing to hold on, looking like a strange skinny sloth. All of a sudden Harry’s broom gave a wild jerk and swung Harry off of it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

Draco pushed his way through the crowd back to Ron and Hermione, doing his best to ignore Hagrid.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asked, slightly panicked.

Hermione was searching the crowd frantically through a pair of binoculars.

“Excuse me, if you haven’t noticed, Harry looks like he’s about to die. Why are you looking at the crowds?”

“Shh!” Hermione hissed. “I knew it! Snape -- look.”

Ron grabbed the binoculars and gasped.

“What is it? Let me see!” Draco seized the binoculars from Ron. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

“He’s doing something -- jinxing the broom,” said Hermione

“No way,” breathed Draco.

“What should we do?” moaned Ron, grey-faced.

“Leave it to me.”

Before they could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. The whole crowd was on their feet, watching Harry terrified. His broom had begun to violently vibrate and it looked as if it would only be seconds before he fell.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered, desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across the stand where Snape stood and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn’t even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell down. When she reached Snape, she whispered the incantation to create her bluebell flames, and ran off.

The fire was enough to stop the spell, and Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom, and before anyone knew what was happening, he was streaking towards the ground. The crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the pitch on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

“I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouted, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Draco, Ron and Hermione ran down to meet Harry as he left the dressing rooms after the game.

“Oh, Harry are you okay?” cried Hermione.

“That was bloody brilliant!” said Ron.

“Nice catch.” Draco added.

“Thanks guys -- I’m fine Hermione,” said Harry. He was grinning broadly, but still shaking from the renegade broom.

“Come on, we told Hagrid that we’d go over to his hut for tea after the match.” said Ron.

“We did?” said Draco, alarmed.

“Yeah, it’s only about fifty feet away from the pitch, let’s go.”

And Draco found himself being dragged to the place he least wanted to go. As he reached the outside of the hut he froze. He absolutely did not want to go inside, under any circumstances.

“I’m not going in there.” he said suddenly.

“What? Why not?” asked Harry.

“I don’t want to.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“If this is about you thinking that Hagrid’s ‘savage’ or whatever--”

“Yeah, maybe it is!”

“Draco!” said Hermione, shocked.

“Whatever, I’m leaving. It has nothing to do with you guys. I’m just not comfortable with him, okay?” And he turned on his heel, leaving them behind looking stricken.

_______________________________________________

“So, we learned a lot more information about what that dog’s guarding.” Harry told Draco later that night in the common room. Hermione and Ron sat with them around the fire.

“Do tell.” said Draco.

“Not until you explain why you don’t like Hagrid.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright then,” said Harry. “Ron, Hermione, let’s go talk about Fluffy somewhere else.”

“Fluffy?”

“Bye, Draco.”

“Wait!”

“Hm?” said Harry, sitting back down.

“It’s-- complicated,” said Draco. He hesitated. “My family is not like a lot of the others at this school. Especially in this house. Ron and his brothers know that probably better than anyone else.”

“Why would Ron--?”

Ron smiled, grimly.

“Draco’s father and mine have gone head to head many times.”

Draco scoffed.

“Your father isn’t important enough to go directly head to head with mine.”

“Hey!”

“Ugh,” Draco sighed. “See this is exactly what I mean. I’ve been raised my whole life to believe that my wizarding family is better than most. I’ve been taught to hate families like the Weasley’s and even be disgusted by people like you, Hermione.”

Hermione suddenly looked very hurt and confused.

“People like me?”

“Muggleborns. See! Now you’re hurt. This is precisely why I didn’t want to go into this.”

“But, what does this have to do with Hagrid?” interjected Harry

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s obvious all right,” said Ron, glaring. “You don’t like him because he’s large, unkempt, lives in a hut, and isn’t a fully-trained wizard. There’s worse things in the world you know.”

“I know!” said Draco. “But, I don’t. I-- I’m just honestly so confused. I don’t hate you Ron, and I’m not disgusted by you, Hermione. You’re truthfully the best friends I have ever had. But I just don’t know. I’m going to bed.”

“Draco, wait!”

“Goodnight.”

Draco went up to the dormitory.

Once he reached his four-poster he threw himself down and covered his face with his hands. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Everything had been going so well since the troll incident, and now he had gone ruining everything. Harry, Ron and Hermione probably hated him now, but perhaps that was for the best. Christmas break was drawing closer, and the less he had to explain to Father, the better. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review, maybe?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really hope I didn't make Draco too OOC in this chapter. I've been trying really hard to keep his character developing without taking out all of his key aspects.

“We need to go talk to Draco.” said Hermione. Draco had been avoiding them for two whole days, and it was time to put an end to it. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat by the common room window. Outside, snow was falling heavily.

“He’s the one who’s been avoiding us. It’s not our fault-- he should come to us first.” said Ron, indignantly.

“Ron,” Hermione said, warningly.

“Hermione’s right,” said Harry.

“Why?” said Ron.

“Can’t you see?” said Hermione. “He’s obviously at war with himself. I don’t know much about this family of his, but I can tell it’s causing problems. From what he said, I can surmise that he is feeling extremely hurt and confused, and he’s most likely avoiding us because of that. We need to show him that we still care about him.”

“Though, it does still bother me that he doesn’t like Hagrid…” Harry mumbled.

“Which is precisely why we need to find a way to properly introduce them.” said Hermione.

“How? And how, exactly, are we supposed to get him to speak to us?”

Hermione looked out onto the snowy grounds.

“I think I have a plan,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “I have to go to the owlery.” she announced, and ran off without another word.

“What’s she got to go to the owlery for?” asked Ron, bewildered.

“Search me.”

Harry and Ron, however, did not have to wait long to find out why Hermione went to the owlery. The following day during the morning post, no less than six owls flew to her carrying two large, long parcels.

“What the bloody hell are those!?” gasped Ron as the packages were dropped on the table, one landing on the edge of his cereal bowl, splattering him with milk.

“You’ll see,” Hermione grinned.

“She’s mental, I tell you.” Ron said to Harry. “Absolutely, mental.”

That day, after classes, Ron and Harry found themselves being dragged through the snow by Hermione, packages still in hand.

“Do you mind telling us why we’re being dragged through the freezing cold?” asked Ron.

“Be patient,” Hermione said, cheerfully. “Would one of you mind carrying one of theses? They’re ever so heavy.”

“No way.” said Ron.

“Here then, Harry.”

Harry reluctantly took the package thrust into his arms. It was rather heavy, and awkward to carry due to its large size.

“Here we are then!” said Hermione, finally. They had arrived at the outskirts of the forbidden forest, atop a large, sloping hill.

“Er, Hermione?” asked Harry.

“Yes?”

“What exactly are we supposed to be doing?”

“Just wait, Draco should be here any moment.”

As if on cue, Draco appeared, walking towards them.

“So what exactly is this ‘super exciting thing that I can never miss’?” he asked.

Hermione lifted the package she was holding higher.

“Skiing!”

“That muggle thing you told me about?”

“Um, Hermione I don’t think a ‘muggle thing’ is the right thing right now to convince Draco Malfoy to talk to us again.” Ron whispered.

“Trust me,” she hissed back.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” said Draco, “I have a lot of homework to do and stuff, so…” he trailed off.

“I understand.” said Hermione. “I mean skiing is also really hard. You probably couldn’t do it anyway.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“Try me.” he said coldly.

“Help me unwrap these,” Hermione smiled, triumphant.

The four of them got to work unpacking the skis. One package held two pairs of the skis themselves, and the other contained four identical pairs of ski boots. Ron and Draco stared at them in wonder, having never seen the likes in their lives. Harry had seen skis before, of course. One year, unathletic Dudley had demanded some for his birthday. Harry never knew why.

“Hermione?” said Ron. “What exactly is skiing?”

Hermione quickly filled him in. “Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through the practice.” she finished. “All right then, let’s put on our boots.”

“You expect us to change our shoes in two feet of snow?” asked Draco, incredulously.

Hermione had apparently not thought of that. “Er--” suddenly a bright idea struck her. “Hagrid’s house is right around the corner, let’s change there.”

“Goodbye.” said Draco.

“Draco Malfoy, you will not bail on me now. It will be quick and I swear on my life, no harm will come to you.”

Draco crossed his arms, undecided. “Fine.” he said, finally. “But you better be right.”

The four of them trudged over to Hagrid’s hut, and knocked on the door. Fang, the boarhound, started barking.

“Hush, Fang, hush.” They heard Hagrid say, inside. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal Hagrid’s bushy, smiling face.

“Harry, Ron, Hermione!” he said. “Wasn’t ‘spectin to see you here today. No matter, no matter. An’ who’s this?” he asked, finally noticing Draco who was barely visible, hiding behind Harry. Harry moved out of the way.

“This is our friend Draco Malfoy.” he said

“Malfoy, eh?” Hagrid frowned, scratching his face. “No matter,” he repeated. “Come inside for a warm cuppa, it’s freezin’ out.”

Hagrid moved out of the doorway to reveal his house within. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked in immediately, grateful for the warmth. Draco stood frozen outside.

Harry reached out an arm and grabbed Draco’s.

“Come on,” he murmured, pulling him inside.

Draco looked around, skeptically, his nose wrinkled. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire and in a corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home.” said Hagrid, moving over to the fire, busying himself with the tea.

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat comfortably down at the table, while Draco rigidly stood in the corner.

“What brings you here, today?” asked Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a teapot.

“We were actually just going to see if we could change our boots here, but tea also sounds great. I was going to teach Ron, Harry and Draco how to ski.” said Hermione.

“Ski?” said Hagrid.

“It’s a muggle thing.” Hermione explained.

“Alrigh’ then.” Hagrid sat down, then looked to see Draco still standing in the corner. “There’s an empty chair,” he said questioningly to him.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Draco said, stiffly.

“Draco, sit.” said Hermione, fixing him with an intense stare. Draco awkwardly made his way over to the empty seat between Hermione and Harry.

“Is there somethin’ I’m missing here?” asked Hagrid, sensing the tense atmosphere. There was a long moments silence before Draco spoke up.

“Do you know anything about my family?” he asked Hagrid.

“Well, er, yeah ‘smatter of fact, I do,” Hagrid replied.

“Well then you would know that Malfoy’s aren’t exactly what most would call open-minded.” said Draco, staring at the table. Draco didn’t know how or why, but suddenly everything that he’d been thinking for the past couple days started spilling out.

“My family has taught me not to be friends with anyone like Harry, Ron, or Hermione. I shudder to think what my father would say if he saw me sitting here with you. The problem is, I keep thinking horrible things like this about other people. I’ll look at someone’s robes and sneer at their poor state--” Ron awkwardly tugged at his sleeves, “--or I’ll find myself thinking how my blood status makes me better than others, and I can’t stand it. I have to constantly remind myself that it doesn’t, and people shouldn’t be mocked for little things like that. Harry, Ron and Hermione have taught me so much and I honestly don’t deserve such good friends.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Draco instantly berated himself. Why had he just spilled everything like that? Stupid.

Hagrid finally spoke up.

“You know,” he said slowly, “there’s a little something that me dad told me once. ‘The firs’ thought that goes through yer mind is what ye’ve been conditioned to think. What ye think next, defines who you are.’” he paused. “I don’ know if that’s helpful, but…”

“And of course we want to be friends with you!” piped up Hermione.

“Yeah!” chorused Harry and Ron.

“Thanks, guys.” said Draco quietly, suddenly very embarrassed. Maybe Hagrid wasn’t so bad after all.

“So how about that skiing?” said Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are one of my favorite things :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, sweet, chapter before things go downhill when Draco goes off to the manor, next chapter. I wasn't really planning on writing them actually skiing because I knew nothing about it, but you asked, and a youtube tutorial and a wikihow article later, I answered.

Skiing turned out to be much harder than any of the boys could have anticipated. Hermione may have been a good teacher, but they weren’t necessarily good students.

After learning just how to walk and slide in the skis on flat ground for about forty minutes, they were finally ready to try to go down the slope.

“All right,” said Hermione. “Draco, Harry-- you first.”

Harry and Draco awkwardly hobbled to the top of the hill, the skis attached to their feet.

“I’m so going to get to the end of the hill first.” said Draco.

“You wish.” said Harry.

“You two will not race! You don’t know enough yet!” Hermione said.

“Of course not, Hermione!” Draco said, winking at Harry.

“So, just go nice and easy, whenever you’re ready. Be careful!”

“Three -- two -- one!” Harry whispered. And they were off.

It did not take long for Harry and Draco to realize what a bad idea this had been. Hermione had obviously had a point when she said to go slow, for within only seconds, both boys were toppling and rolling down the hill.

Harry groaned when he reached the bottom of the hill. Opening his eyes, he could see Hermione and Ron running down the slope, trying to reach them. Sitting up, he happily found himself in complete health, no injuries at all.

All of a sudden he heard a shriek from two feet below him. He looked around in alarm and saw Draco on the ground cradling his hand, curled up in a ball.

“Draco!” Harry yelled. “Are you alright?!”

Draco moaned in response.

Harry swiftly stood up and ran over as quickly as possible, panicked, his skis still attached.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, bending over Draco. “Come on Draco, just tell me so I can help.”

Draco slowly raised his hand.

“What is it?” said Harry, scared and bewildered. “I can’t see anything. Is it broken?”

Even slower, Draco raised his other hand and pointed to his index finger where a small bit of skin the size of a sugar ant, hung off his flesh.

“My finger!” he cried.

Harry’s expression turned quickly from terror to indignation.

“Draco,” he said, exasperated, “that’s a hangnail.”

“It hurts!”

“Oh no, oh no! What happened? I told you two to go slowly!” Hermione and Ron had arrived.

“Something absolutely dreadful happened.” Harry deadpanned. “Draco got a hangnail.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” said Ron incredulously, staring at Draco’s figure lying pathetically on the ground.

“Come on mate, get up-- woah--!” Harry, forgetting he was still wearing his skis, tried to walk normally and instantly fell on the ground next to Draco.

“Harry! Oh no!” cried Hermione.

Harry felt a laugh rise in his throat. And then he was full on roaring with laughter. It all suddenly felt so ridiculous to him.

Ron took one look at him and doubled over, laughing too.

“What,” said Hermione. “I don’t understand--”

Draco, still cradling his finger began to laugh as well.

“Boys...” Hermione said shaking her head with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are honestly the most encouraging and motivating thing for me<3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who has supported this fic so far<3

Christmas break was quickly approaching. The grounds were now covered with several more feet of snow, and the corridors had become drafty and icy.

Draco was now completely filled in with the details of Fluffy, Snape, and the trapdoor. Harry, Ron and Hermione, had all been very disappointed to find out that Draco had no clue as to who Nicolas Flamel was.

“I’ll be sure to ask Mother and Father.” he told them the day before break.

“And you could ask your parents as well,” Ron said to Hermione. “It’d be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe, as they’re both dentists.”

The train ride back to Platform 9 ¾ was relatively uneventful for Draco and Hermione. They mostly just spoke about Nicolas Flamel, and Hermione scoured the books she had checked out from the library before departing.

When they arrived at the platform, Draco hastily stopped Hermione before she got off the train.

“Let’s just say goodbye here,” he said, “ instead of on the platform.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

“Just-- see you after break.” he said, and quickly wheeled Aureus and his trunk away from her and off of the train.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by Hermione; he just did not wish to explain his new friendships to his parents so early into his arrival.

Draco searched the platform for his parents, peering through the sea of heads. Finally, he spotted the long blonde hair of his mother. Draco frowned. Where was Father?

He strode over to his mother and was immediately caught in a warm embrace.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” she whispered into his hair.

“Mother, stop, people are watching,” Draco murmured embarrassed, though, truth be told, he had missed his mother immensely as well.

“Where’s Father?” he asked, when she let go.

Narcissa Malfoy suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

“He was busy,” she said, not quite looking Draco in the eye. “Had lot’s to do at work today.”

“I understand.”

When they arrived to the Malfoy Manor, Dobby the House Elf stood waiting for them at the door.

“Dobby, take Draco’s things to his room, immediately.” commanded Narcissa.

“Yes, Mistress,” squeaked Dobby, bowing so low his nose touched the ground. The elf grabbed hold of Draco’s luggage and Aureus’ cage, and disapparated with a loud crack.

“When will Father be home?” inquired Draco.

“By dinner.” she said shortly. “Are you hungry at all now, dear? Is there anything that you would like?”

“I think I just want to go to my room and clean up, for now.”

Draco’s room was on the ground floor of the Manor. He liked it better that way. It was the most direct bedroom to the outside grounds.

Draco opened his door and was immediately taken aback. Nothing had changed of course, but that was exactly the problem. Draco had changed so much in the past few months, and now this room with its green and silver Slytherin hangings seemed wrong-- alien even.

He ran his fingers across the plush emerald blanket on his bed, curiously. He couldn’t believe that only months ago he had wished and really, truly believed he would be a Slytherin. How times had changed.

Draco went over to his dresser, pulled out some of his home robes and changed into them. He looked at his Gryffindor tie lying on the bed for a moment, then thoughtfully tied it around one of his bed posts.

When Lucius Malfoy arrived for dinner that night, he had simply said: “Draco, welcome back.” before sitting down to eat. Draco was used to his father’s lack of sentimentality and had learned to respect him for it.

Dinner at the Malfoy’s was normally a quiet affair. It wasn’t until their second course, that Lucius Malfoy spoke up.

“How has school been going, Draco?”

“Pretty well,” he honestly replied.

“Any new friends, you wish to tell me about?”

Draco almost dropped his fork. He knew! he thought wildly. Somehow he knew. Someone must have told him or--

“Draco?”

“N-no.” stuttered Draco. “Nobody of importance.”

“No one?” Lucius raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Draco quickly reached for his water and took a long sip.

__________________________________________

The days before Christmas went by without too much incident. Lucius Malfoy spent most of his time at work, and Draco busied himself with normal holiday traditions, such as helping his mother decorate gingerbread and adorn the tree.

The biggest difference this year, compared to others, was that Draco started to realize how incredibly Slytherin even the tiniest aspects of his house were; the green Christmas tree, decorated with fine silver ornaments, even seemed to scream Slytherin.

Christmas day dawned bright and early. Draco excitedly rolled out of his covers and ran into the drawing room to see the presents. Dobby was in charge of being Santa each year and held the presents for everyone, only putting them under the tree Christmas Eve night.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy walked into the room, yawning. Lucius was wearing silk green pajamas while Narcissa wore a deep blue satin night gown. The fire roared merrily in the fireplace beside the tree.

“Can we open presents now?” asked Draco eagerly.

“What do you think? It’s Christmas, go on!” said Lucius.

Narcissa and Lucius sat on the sofa, and watched their son happily unwrap his presents.

After unwrapping all of his gifts, Draco sat back and grinned at his parents.

“Thank you mother, and father!”

All of a sudden a very plain looking parcel tucked under the tree caught his eye. It was enclosed in ordinary brown wrappings.

“Draco,” said Lucius as Draco examined the package.

“Yes?” he began to slowly unwrap it.

“I hate to bring this up on Christmas, but I am very disappointed in you.”

Draco froze.

“What?”

“I know who your new friends are.”

“Wait--”

“Not only have you befriended a muggleborn and a blood-traitor, but you have also lied to me about it.”

“Father--”

“I have no problem with the Potter boy. Yes, he can have his advantages, but there is no excuse for a Weasley and a muggleborn.”

“I--” Draco looked down at the package in his arms. Inside was a note that read:

 

Dear Draco,

I have heard you and my son have become very good friends. I hope you have a lovely Christmas!

Sincerely, Molly Weasley

 

Under the note was a navy blue jumper which had clearly been made by Molly Weasley herself. Draco narrowed his eyes and looked up at his father.

“What’s wrong with the Weasleys?”

Lucius Malfoy looked extremely thrown off guard.

“What’s wrong with the--?” he spluttered.

“From what I can tell, they’re nothing like what you’ve told me.”

“What’s in that package?” Lucius said suddenly.

Draco pushed it behind him.

“Draco Malfoy, you tell me what is in that package this instant!”

Lucius stood up and grabbed the sweater and the note from the wrappings, and examined them, his eyes widening.

“Filth.” he whispered. “Absolute filth.” he said louder, a cold fury in his voice.

“Now let me make myself very clear. I do not want to hear that you have been gallivanting around with Weasley and mudblood scum, do you hear me?”

Draco was silent.

“I said, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, but I don’t understand you.” said Draco quietly. His blood was rushing in his ears. Never in his life had he stood up to his father like this.

“That Gryffindor house has poisoned your mind. I should have sent you to Durmstrang when I had the chance.” and with that, he threw the sweater into the fire and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Review maybe?<3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaa!! I made so many people upset with the last chapter, I'm so sorry!! But, it had to happen, and in my opinion would be unrealistic if it didn't, so... Huge thanks to the latest reviewers/commenters: Tin_E, rellephant, SlythKris, Devourer_of_Poptarts, Me_and_my_fandoms, tardisblue67impala, davidwv

It wasn’t Draco’s best Christmas, to say the least. After being unable to salvage the sweater from the flames, he had followed suit of his father and stormed from the room, locking himself in his bedroom, where he spent the most of the rest of Christmas vacation.

His parents had tried to coax him out many times, but he wouldn’t budge. His entire life his father had done everything in his power to make Draco happy. Why did that no longer apply to this situation?

Finally, the day before term started, Draco was able to board the train and leave for Hogwarts. His mother forced him into a hug while his father simply said: “You are a Malfoy, Draco. It will do you well to remember that.”

On the train, he did not speak of his vacation with Hermione. He had decided it best to not talk about with anyone-- he did not wish to make his friends uncomfortable with him. When he told her that he hadn’t been able to ask about Nicolas Flamel, she was greatly disappointed.

“Oh, well we’ll just have to hope that Harry and Ron found something.”

Harry and Ron, however, had not discovered anything about Flamel either. Instead they had discovered a magical mirror, by the name of The Mirror of Erised and--

“--an invisibility cloak!?” said Draco, in awe. “How did you come across one of those?”

“Not really sure. It used to be my dad’s or something.”

“Wow,” breathed Draco.

Hermione, on the other hand, was not as impressed. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed three nights in a row (“If Filch had caught you!”) and disappointment that he hadn’t at least found out who Flamel was.

The days moved on with still no luck with Nicolas Flamel. With Harry too busy with Quidditch, and Draco too distracted with stress about his family, Hermione was left to study alone (Ron did not want to research without Harry and Draco).

Draco had received many letters from his family since returning. All asking -- more like demanding-- he cease all communications with Ron and Hermione. He had not replied to any. The more he could avoid his problems, the better, he thought. At least he did until one fateful Sunday morning.

“Draco?” said Hermione.

Silence.

“Draco?”

More silence.

“Draco!” Hermione yelled, making Draco jump.

“Wh- What is it?”

Hermione, Harry and Ron were all staring at him.

“You were spacing out again.” she frowned. “You’ve been doing that quite a lot recently.”

“Have I?” said Draco with fake wonder. “I don’t think I have.”

“No mate, you really have. All the time.” said Ron around a bite of bacon.

“And you barely eat.” added Harry, indicating Draco’s untouched plate.

“Are you sick?” said Hermione, worriedly.

“Guys stop! I’m fine, okay? I don’t need--” Draco started, but was interrupted by the whoosh of the morning post. He looked up to see Aureus clutching a scarlet envelope, soaring towards him.

“No,” he breathed. It couldn’t be. In no possible way could his parents have ever sent him--

“A Howler?!” Ron exclaimed as Aureus landed. “What on earth do you have a Howler for?”

Draco stared at it, petrified.

“What’s a Howler?” asked Harry and Hermione at the same time.

Nearby Gryffindors turned to look at the Howler, some with fear, others with amusement.

“You better open it,” said Ron, ignoring Harry and Hermione. “I heard if you wait too long they explode.”

Hands shaking, Draco went to untie the envelope from Aureus’ leg. He was terrified, and not only of being humiliated. He was sure that whatever was in this Howler, Harry, Ron and Hermione would not like it.

Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ripped open the letter. Instantly, his father’s voice, amplified at least ten times, rang through the hall, so loud it shook dust from the ceiling.

“DRACO MALFOY, YOU ARE THE FIRST MALFOY IN DECADES TO RECEIVE A HOWLER. YOU ARE ALSO THE FIRST TO GO SO COMPLETELY AGAINST WHAT A MALFOY STANDS FOR.--”

Everyone in the hall was staring. Draco was shrinking back into his chair as far as he could. He wished he could completely disappear.

“--I HAVE WARNED YOU FOR DAYS TO STOP RUNNING AROUND WITH THOSE PEOPLE -- YOU KNOW WHO I’M SPEAKING OF -- AND YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT BE INSUBORDINATE.

“IF YOU DO NOT STOP THIS INSOLENT BEHAVIOUR IMMEDIATELY, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.”

And with that the letter burst into flames.

No sooner than the Howler had ended, had the entire Slytherin table erupted into roars of laughter. Draco sat frozen in shock. He didn’t know whether he should run or stay or say something or keep quiet or--

“Draco,” said Harry softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “come on, let’s get out of here.”

He felt himself being guided out of the hall by Harry, Ron and Hermione. He didn’t even realize where he was going until they were standing at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Pig snout,” he heard Hermione say, as if miles away.

The Common Room was empty, save a couple of sixth years. Everyone was still down at breakfast. Draco was led to an armchair by the fire and plopped down.

The four of them were quiet for a while. It was Draco who spoke first.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Oh, Draco,” said Hermione. “Why would you be sorry?”

“You do realize it was you he was talking about? All of you?”

Ron shifted, uncomfortably.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything unless you’re…” he trailed off.

“No, I’m not going to stop being friends with you, if that’s what you mean.”

“But, what are you going to do?” asked Hermione.

“You know,” interjected Harry. “Blood isn’t everything. I mean, look at who I’m related to. The Dursleys are some of the worst people you could meet.”

“I still love my family, Harry.” said Draco, coldly. “They’ll come around. They have to…”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry quickly. “I wasn’t trying to--”

“I know.”

“Here,” said Harry, flicking over a chocolate frog from his pocket. It was his last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. “It’s not much, but feel better, mate. We’re all here for you.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Stop feeling the need to hide things from us already.”

Draco gave them a weak smile, and unwrapped the frog.

“Thanks. Here, take the card. I don’t collect them.”

Harry examined the card.

“Dumbledore again. He was the first one I ever--”

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Draco, Ron and Hermione.

“I’ve found him!” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the time, but I’ve found him! I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this:

‘Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of twelve uses of dragon’s blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel’!”

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn’t looked so excited since they’d got back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

“Stay there!” she paused. “Unless… Are you alright, Draco?”

“I’m as curious to find out who Flamel is as you all are. Go on!”

She immediately turned and sprinted up to the girls’ dormitories. It was only seconds before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

“I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“Light?” said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she’d looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“Are we allowed to speak yet?” said Ron grumpily.

“Nicolas Flamel,” she whispered dramatically, “is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!”

This didn’t have quite the effect she’d expected.

“The what?” chorused Harry, Ron and Draco.

“Oh, honestly, don’t you three read? Look -- read that, there.”

She pushed the book towards them, and Harry, Ron and Draco read:

‘The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Pernelle (six hundred and fifty-eight.)’

“See?” said Hermione, when the boys had finished. “The dog must be guarding Flamel’s stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it. That’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!”

“A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!” said Harry. “No wonder Snape wants it!”

“Anyone would want it,” added Draco.

“And no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that ‘Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,’” said Ron. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether or not to include the whole passage about Nicolas Flamel, but I threw it in just to be safe. Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always lovely<3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the latest reviews! On a completely not-story-related note-- have you guys seen the casting for The Cursed Child?! I'm super excited for Noma Dumezweni to play Hermione!

Harry and Draco had a very tough next couple of days. Harry, because he was dreading the next Quidditch match where Snape would referee, and Draco, because he had now become the brunt of all the Slytherin taunts and jeers. It seemed as though the Slytherins had taken his Howler as permission to finally attack him.

“Blood-traitor,” they would hiss at him in the halls between classes, whilst aiming various jinxes. But Draco kept his head held high. He would coldly smirk at them and continue to walk proudly forward. Nobody would bring him down, and when his father came around-- oh boy, would these people regret it.

The fear of Snape refereeing the Quidditch match turned out to be a joke. The entire school attended the match, including Dumbledore himself, so any chances of Snape cursing Harry went down to zero. Snape called many unfair penalties against Gryffindor, but it didn’t matter-- Harry caught the Snitch within only five minutes, securing the win for Gryffindor. After the match, however, Harry disappeared and returned with very bad news.

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione squeaked.

“We won! You won! We won!” shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back.

“Nice one, Harry! The Slytherins won’t be able to taunt us for weeks!” said Draco.

“Everyone’s waiting for you in the common room, we’re having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens!” said Rojn.

“Never mind that now,” said Harry, breathlessly. “Let’s find an empty room, you wait ‘til you hear this…”

He made sure Peeves wasn’t inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he’d seen and heard Quirrell and Snape say.

“So we were right, it is the Philosopher’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy -- and he said something about Quirrell’s “hocus-pocus” -- I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark spells which Snape needs to break through--”

“So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” said Hermione in alarm.

“It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” said Ron.

Quirrell must have been braver than they’d thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn’t look as though he’d cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell’s stutter.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. She had started drawing up revision timetables and colour-coding all her notes.

“Hermione, the exams are ages away.”

“Ten weeks,” Hermione snapped. “That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.”

“But we’re not six hundred years old,” Ron reminded her. “Anyway, what are you revising for, you already know it all.”

“What am I revising for? Are you mad? You realise we need to pass the exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s got into me…”

Draco seemed to be thinking similarly to Hermione.

“Hermione’s right,” he said. “If I go home with bad marks with all that’s happened this year, I don’t think my parents will be too pleased to say the very least.”

The teachers also appeared to be thinking along the same lines. Homework was piling up mercilessly. The Easter holidays were hardly a vacation.

Hermione was constantly struggling to drag Harry and Ron to the library to study, while begging Draco to help her convince them to work.

“It’s their grades,” he would say. “As long as I have good marks, I don’t care what they do.”

On a particularly fine afternoon, Ron finally lost it.

“I’ll never remember this!” he burst out, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out the library window. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue and there was a feeling in the air of an approaching summer.

“Hagrid!” said Ron, suddenly. “What are you doing in the library?”

Draco, Harry and Hermione looked up from their work. Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

“Jus’ lookin’,” he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” he looked suddenly suspicious. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” said Ron impressively. “And we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Philosopher’s St--”

“Shhhh!” Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

“There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,” said Harry, “about what’s guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy--”

“SHHHH!” said Hagrid again. “Listen -- come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh.”

“See you later, then.” said Harry.

Hagrid shuffled off.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

“I’m going to see what section he was in,” said Ron, who’d had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

“Dragons!” he whispered. “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these” ‘Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland’; ‘From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide’.”

“Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him,” said Harry.

“He’s not thinking of breeding a dragon?” asked Draco, alarmed. “Not only is it illegal, but it’d be incredibly stupid.”

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper’s hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, “Who is it?” before he let them in and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

“So -- yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”

“Yes,” said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. “We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy.”

Hagrid frowned at him.

“O’ course I can’t,” he said. “Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell you if I could. That Stone’s here for a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts -- I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.”

“Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here,” said Hermione in a flattering voice. Hagrid’s beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. “We only wondered who had done the guarding, really.” Hermione went on. “We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.” Hagrid’s chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione, and Draco smirked amusedly. It was a very Slytherin thing of Hermione to do, he thought.

“Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let’s see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o’ the other teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout -- Professor Flitwick -- Professor McGonagall--” he ticked them off on his fingers, “Professor Quirrell -- an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

“Snape?”

“Yeah -- yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”

Harry knew the other three were thinking the same thing. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything -- except, it seemed, Quirrell’s spell and how to get past Fluffy.

“Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling.” said Harry.

“Yes, it’s horribly hot in here.” Draco agreed.

“Can’t, sorry,” said Hagrid, glancing at the fire. The others followed his gaze.

“Hagrid -- what’s that?” said Harry. But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. “That’s-- er…”

“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

“Hagrid, you can’t keep a dragon!” said Malfoy. “It’s completely against the law!”

“What are you going to do when it’s hatched?” asked Hermione.

Hagrid happily explained that he’d read books on dragon keeping, and how it shouldn’t be a problem. Hermione and Draco looked at each other incredulously.

“Hagrid,” said Hermione, “you live in a wooden house.”

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

_____________________________________

The dragon, named Norbert, soon hatched, and it was becoming quite plain that Hagrid would not be able to take care of it for long. To Hagrid’s dismay, it was quickly decided upon that they should write to Charlie Weasley and see if he could take it. They got a letter the following Wednesday asking them to take Norbert to the Astronomy Tower on Saturday at midnight. His friends would pick up the dragon.

“We’ve got the Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry. “It shouldn’t be too difficult -- I think the Cloak’s big enough to cover two of us and Norbert.”

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron’s hand (which had gotten bitten by Norbert the previous night) had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey -- would she recognise a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as though Norbert’s fangs were poisonous.

Hermione, Harry and Draco rushed up to the hospital wing to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

“It’s not just my hand,” he whispered, “although that feels like it’s about to fall off. A group of Slytherin’s came in pretending to want to wish me well, just so they could have a good laugh. They were bored I suppose.” he reached over to pick up something that wasn’t there, and bolted upright.

“Where’s my book?”

“What? I don’t know.” said Harry.

“Did any of you borrow my Herbology book?” said Ron, his voice rising in panic.

“No?” said Harry bewildered, while Hermione and Draco shook their heads.

“Oh no,” Ron moaned. “I bet one of the Slytherins grabbed it!”

“That sucks, but I don’t know why you’re so upset about it?”

“No you don’t understand. Charlie’s letter was in that book -- they’re going to know about when we’re getting rid of Norbert!”

Harry, Draco and Hermione didn’t get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

____________________________________

Saturday night found Draco pacing nervously around the empty common room. It was a quarter past eleven and Hermione and Harry had left to take Norbert to the Astronomy Tower. He kept thinking about that letter in the hands of the Slytherins. If they were the same as when he knew them before Hogwarts, he was sure that at least one of them would cause trouble for Harry and Hermione.

He weighed his options. He could leave the common room and patrol the corridors and risk getting caught by Filch. Or he could stay here and wait for Harry and Hermione to get potentially expelled.

Draco groaned, then decided that ultimately, Harry and Hermione’s expulsion would be worse than a possible detention from Filch.

He clambered out of the portrait hole and set off towards the staff room-- he figured that would be the first place that someone would go to get someone in trouble.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was so incredibly stupid and unlike him, he had half the mind to turn around that instant.

“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered under his breath, “so incredibly stu-”

Draco’s heart almost stopped. He had bumped into someone! He was just thinking about what words would be written on his tombstone when he noticed that this person was rather short. Not short enough to be Flitwick, but definitely not tall enough to be another teacher.

“Draco!” yelped Neville Longbottom, turning to face him. “You scared me! What are you doing out of bed?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I heard this Slytherin girl boasting about catching Ron and Harry doing something. She said something about a dragon! I was trying to warn them but--”

“Keep your voice down,” Draco hissed. “Do you know who the girl was?”

“Dunno,” Neville frowned. “I’ve seen her in Potions class… Penny or Polly, or…”

“Pansy?”

“That’s it!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. Pansy was definitely the type to tell a teacher. He started walking swiftly towards the staff room again.

“Where’re you going?” called Neville, trotting after him

“Do you want us to get caught? Keep your voice down, already.”

He continued to walk.

He had reached a suit of armour about twelve feet from the staff room when he saw her. Pug-faced with pigtails, she was marching to knock on the door.

Draco panicked.

“Pansy!” he hissed.

She froze. Slowly turning, she looked and saw him.

She walked over.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “Look who’s out of bed. Draco Malfoy, and-- wow, you’re even friends with Longbottom now?”

Draco ignored her.

“What are you doing, Parkinson?”

“Just wanted to make sure that everyone around here was obeying the rules.” said Pansy innocently.

“You know, I could turn you in as easily as you could turn me in.”

Pansy frowned.

“I suppose that’s true.” she paused. “But what’s to stop me from doing this?”

Quick as a fox, she toppled down the suit of armour, and dashed into the classroom it guarded, the noise of the armour muffling the sound of the closing door.

Draco and Neville were frozen with shock, and before they could do anything, Professor McGonagall had come running out of the staff room, livid.

This is it, Draco thought. We’re done for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to review<3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the chapter is so short, especially after not uploading in so long! I've been super busy with the holidays and stuff. I hope that your holidays are fantastic! Special thanks to the latest reviewers<3 Happy Christmas!

Professor McGonagall in her tartan dressing gown and hair net was truly a terrible sight to behold. Her lips were impossibly thin as she glared at the pair of boys.

“Longbottom! Malfoy!” she barked. “What on earth are you doing out of bed? It’s almost midnight. Explain yourselves!”

Neville and Draco seemed to have lost the ability of speech.

“We were-- we were just--”

“Detention! The both of you. And twenty points from Gryffindor!” she strode over and grabbed them both by the necks of their night dresses.

“I don’t know where you get the idea,” she seethed, dragging them back towards the Gryffindor common room, “that it is okay for you to not only break curfew, but to make a racket, waking the whole school whilst doing so.”

Draco suddenly remembered Pansy in the other room.

“Professor-- Pansy!”

“Pansy? Pansy who? My name is Professor McGonagall, thank you very much.”

“No-- Pansy Parkinson. She made the noise!”

“If Pansy Parkinson toppled that suit of armour, then please explain to me Mr Malfoy, why Pansy Parkinson is not with you?”

“She went into the classroom-- right there,”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes and strode back toward the door, swinging it open.

“There is nobody in here, Mr Malfoy.”

“Wha--?” he ran over and peered inside the room beside her.

Professor McGonagall was right. The room was indeed quite empty.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I will be taking you back to your dormitories. I’ve had a long day and would appreciate getting at least four hours of sleep tonight.”

“No, but I swear-- Pansy was here!”

“Unless Pansy Parkinson, a first-year student, has somehow learned not only how to apparate, but how to apparate on school grounds, I believe it is quite plain that Parkinson was never here. Now, really! Off to bed!”

Sitting in the common room later, Draco thought hard. How on earth had Pansy managed to disappear like that? He kept thinking of different theories, each more wild than the last. At least, he thought, him being caught kept Hermione and Harry safe.

The portrait hole swung forward. Harry and Hermione emerged, looking very dejected.

“Did you do it?” asked Draco. “Did you get rid of Norbert?”

“Yes,” said Harry, gloomily.

“Then why are you so upset?”

“We got caught,” said Hermione, “not with the dragon, thankfully, but we forgot the invisibility cloak on the tower. Filch caught us and brought us straight to McGonagall. She seemed to be in a very foul mood --something about us being the second pair of students out of bed tonight-- but anyway, she took off points…”

“Well, that’s not too bad.”

“Except she took off fifty.” said Harry.

“Each.” whispered Hermione.

“Each?” repeated Draco, incredulously. “You lost one hundred points for Gryffindor? That’s mad! Especially after what I went through to save your necks!”

“What you went through?”

Draco quickly recounted his and Neville’s encounter with Pansy and McGonagall.

Hermione furrowed her brow.

“But, then how did she get away?”

“Wish I knew.” said Draco. “But I think the more important thing is that we lost no less than one hundred and twenty points tonight.”

“How can we ever make up for this?” Hermione whimpered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Happy Christmas! Feel free to review<3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a lot of dialogue that comes directly from Philosopher's Stone in this chapter. I thought about it for a long time, and decided there was no way around it. I hope you guys don't mind too much...

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses the next day thought there’d been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and twenty fewer points than yesterday?

Walking into the hall the next morning, Draco, Neville, Hermione, and Harry felt sick. Soon the news would spread that these meddling, stupid first-years lost Gryffindor’s first lead in years.

“Thanks a lot, we owe you one!” said Pansy when they arrived outside the Great Hall.

“Pansy!” Draco seethed. “How did you disappear last night?”

“Disappear?” Pansy pouted. “That’s impossible. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Pansy,” Draco warned.

She gave a nasty smile and then walked into the hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

One week before exams Hermione and the three other boys were delivered notes at the breakfast table. They all read the same thing:

 

Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr Filch in the Entrance Hall.

Prof. M. McGonagall

 

They had all forgotten that they still had detentions to do in the furore over the points they’d lost. Harry half expected Hermione and Draco to complain that this was a whole night of revision lost, but they didn’t say a word.

At eleven o’clock that night they said goodbye to Ron in the common room and went down to the Entrance Hall with Neville. Filch was already there.

“Follow me,” said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he continued, leering at them. “Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days. I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed… Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

They marched across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible or Filch wouldn’t be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, they could see the lighted windows of Hagrid’s hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Harry’s heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn’t be so bad. His relief must have shown on his face, because Filch said, “I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy -- it’s into the Forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”

At this, Neville let out a little moan and Draco stopped in his tracks.

“The Forest?” he repeated. “We can’t go in there at night -- there are all sorts of things in there -- werewolves, I heard.”

“That’s your lookout, isn’t it?” said Flich, his voice cracking with glee. “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

“Abou’ time,” he said. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right Harry, Draco, Hermione?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” said Filch coldly, “they’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ‘Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” said Filch, “for what’s left of them,” he added nastily, and he turned and started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Draco now turned to Hagrid.

“I’m not going in that Forest,” he said, a note of panic rising in his voice.

“Yeh are if you want to stay at Hogwarts.”

“But-- but, I thought we’d be doing something like writing lines or--”

“Nah, writing lines are no good,” said Hagrid. “Beside’, yeh’ll be wit’ me an’ Fang. Nothin’ can harm yeh with us around. Don’ worry.” he added, kindly.

“Right then,” Hagrid continued. “Now, listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

He led them to the very edge of the Forest. Holding his lamp high he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the Forest.

“Look there,” said Hagrid, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” said Draco.

“Remember, there’s nothin’ that lives in the Forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang.” said Hagrid. “An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

“Can I have Fang?” said Draco, looking at his long teeth.

“All right,” said Hagrid. “So me, Neville an’ Hermione’ll go one way an’ Draco, Harry an’ Fang’ll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now -- that’s it -- an’ if anyone gets into trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh -- so be careful -- let’s go.”

The Forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the path and Neville, Hermione and Hagrid took the left path while Harry, Draco and Fang took the right.

Harry and Draco walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches lit a spot of silver blue blood on fallen leaves. Harry was just starting to relax a little when he heard a small rustle and felt himself being grabbed by the arm.

“Argh--!” he raised his other arm, ready to send red sparks, when he realized it was just Draco, clasping onto his upper arm with both of his.

“Draco! What the--”

“You should have seen your face!” Draco sniggered.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Hey, aren’t you going to let go?” said Harry, realizing Draco still hadn’t released his arm yet.

In the faint moonlight, Harry could see Draco’s pale face tinge very slightly with pink.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Harry asked.

“Scared? As if.” Draco scoffed, but Harry could hear a tremor in his voice.

“Whatever, let’s keep moving.” Harry said, deciding it best not to push him.

They continued to walk for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the Forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the root of a tree as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

“Look--” he murmured to Draco.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead.

Harry and Draco had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made them freeze where they stood. Draco’s grip on Harry’s arm became vice-like. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Draco and Fang stood transfixed. Draco’s hold on Harry’s was arm so tight it was making it numb. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, it lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.

“AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Draco let out a terrible scream and tried to drag Harry away as Fang bolted. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry -- unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards them-- Harry couldn’t move for fear.

Then a pain pierced his head like he’d never felt before, it was if his scar was on fire -- half-blinded, he let Draco pull him backwards. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over him, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry’s head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. Draco was next to him, looking at him terrified, and a centaur -- half man, half horse with white-blond hair and a palomino body -- stood over him.

“Are you alright?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

“Yes -- thank you-- what was that?”

The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid, on Harry’s forehead.

“You are the Potter boy,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The Forest is not safe at this time -- especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.”

“My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself on his front legs so that Harry could clamber on to his back.

“What about me?” Draco said suddenly. Harry jumped. He had almost forgot that he was there.

“Yes, it would be best not to leave you alone.” said Firenze, allowing Draco to climb on behind Harry.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Two other centaurs came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty. One had red hair and a beard, with a chestnut body. The other was black haired and bodied. Both appeared older than Firenze.

“Firenze!” thundered the black haired centaur. “What are you doing? You have a human -- no two humans -- on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

“Do you realise who this is, Bane?” said Firenze. “This is the Potter boy -- I don’t know who this other child is. But the quicker Harry Potter leaves the forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling them?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

The chestnut centaur pawed the ground nervously.

“I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” he said in a gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger

“For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our Forest!”

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger. Harry had to grab his shoulders while Draco grabbed his to stay on.

“Do you not see that unicorn!” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

And Firenze whisked around; with Harry and Draco clutching on best they could, they plunged into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Why’s Bane so angry?” he asked. “What was that thing you saved us from anyway?”

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned them to keep their head bowed in case of low-hanging branches but did not answer Harry’s question. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees when Firenze suddenly stopped.

“Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“No,” said Harry.

“What about you, other child?”

Draco narrowed his eyes, not exactly happy with being addressed as the ‘other child’, but answered anyway.

“We only use the horn and tail hair in potions.”

“That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself and you will have but a half life, a cursed life from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

Harry stared at the back of Firenze’s head which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

“But who’d be that desperate?” he wondered aloud. “Death would be better, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else -- something that will bring you back to full strength and power -- something that will mean you can never die. Do you know what’s hidden in the school at this very moment?”

“The Philosopher's Stone! Of course -- the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who--”

“Can you not think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

Harry felt Draco’s body stiffen behind him.

“Do you mean,” Harry croaked, “that was Vol--”

“Harry! Draco! Are you alright?”

Hermione was running towards them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

Draco seemed too shocked to speak.

“We’re fine,” said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. “The unicorns dead, Hagrid, it’s in that clearing back there.”

“This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn.

Harry slid off his back. Draco still seemed frozen in shock, so Harry pulled him down, himself.

___________________________________________

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. Harry shook him awake, and in a matter of seconds he was wide-eyed as Harry told him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Draco sat rigidly on the ground and Harry paced up and down in front of fire.

“Snape wants the stone for Voldemort--”

“Don’t,” hissed Draco.

“What?” said Harry.

“The name -- don’t say it.”

Harry ignored him.

“So Voldemort’s waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich..”

“Stop saying the name!” said Ron in a terrified whisper.

Harry wasn’t listening. He continued to tell the others the rest of the events.

Draco zoned out during the rest of his story-- he was there, so why should he listen to it again? Instead he thought about Voldemort. It was always a touchy subject back home. He knew other wizarding families were terrified of him, but he could never tell with his own. The strangest thing, he had realised, was how they called him “The Dark Lord.” Only a few other Slytherin families called him that. 

The sky had turned light when everyone had finished talking. They went to bed exhausted, and their throats sore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Reviews are the lifeblood of a fanfic writer"


	19. NOTE

NOTE:

Hi everyone! I just wanted to say that I am so so so sorry that I haven't updated in a couple months. My computer broke and I still haven't got a new one and typing out the story on my phone would be hell. BUT! I also wanted to let everyone know that this fic HAS NOT BEEN ABANDONED! I really miss writing this and the second that I get a new laptop I promise I will update ASAP. Over the last couple of months I've been working out plots for the next fics in this series and I am so excited to type it out. I love you guys, thank you so much for sticking around through my erratic updates<3 

@my subscribers -- I'm super sorry if this is disappointing because it's not a real update. I just felt the need to let you know why I had stopped writing. I will hopefully have an update before the end of March. Love you all!


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